“Definitely not a bird,” Sophie exclaimed.
They both took off running toward the promenade, but Sophie reached the tightly woven seagrass basket first. It was full of colorful rags and long strands of velvety seaweed. At the center, most improbably, was a pink-cheeked infant! Her golden blond curls clung to her scalp in wet ringlets. Her fingers were practically blue with the cold and there was a fine, lacelike rash on her arms. This did nothing to diminish how beautiful she was. She was probably the most gorgeous baby that Isaac had ever seen. He blinked twice.
“Is that what I think it is?” Isaac gasped.
“We need to bring her back to the hotel.” Sophie already had her coat off, and was trying to swaddle the infant in it.
“Wait, Sophie.” Isaac took off his own coat and handed it to her. “Put your coat back on. You’re already chilled to the bone, I’m sure. I can just hear what your mother would say.”
“We need to warm her up.” Sophie rocked the baby in her arms and massaged her limbs. “She’s got some kind of rash. I think she might be sick. We have to get her back to our room immediately.”
“Don’t you think we ought to send for someone?” Isaac frowned. “The police?”
“To what end?” Sophie’s eyes darkened and her brows knit together.
“To find her parents?” Isaac spoke carefully.
“What kind of parents would leave a child on a frigid beach to die?” Sophie held the child to her chest, rocking it to soothe it. Isaac had to admit it was working. The baby stared at him placidly now, her large green eyes like twin gems.
“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands. “But what if that’s not what happened? What if she was kidnapped?”
“Well, then, I suppose we’ll read about it in the news, won’t we?” Sophie replied in a singsong voice, speaking more to the baby than to her husband. The child leaned into her, resting its cheek against her breastbone. She felt as if her heart might stop. An hour ago, she’d felt as though her whole life was crumbling, too weak to go on. And now she felt strong enough to slay dragons, if such things existed.
“What is your name?” Sophie cooed. “Wherever did you come from?” Her sing-song words were rhythmic, timed with the graceful bouncing and swaying motions she was performing to keep the baby calm and soothed. It was almost like she was doing ballet. Isaac had never seen her dance this way before. He didn’t even know his wife knew how to do ballet. He stared at the two of them.
The baby was looking into Sophie’s eyes now. He could see tears forming in his wife’s eyes again. But not the same tears. These tears welled up without spilling over. They didn’t make her lids any redder or make her eyes swell. They made her eyes shine.
“Isaac?” Sophie murmured. “Do you think there’s any chance we might–”
“Consider moving to Brighton Beach?” Isaac finished her sentence and stepped closer. He should have been cold, but the golden light of the sun settled around him like a blanket. He began to bounce and sway, matching his wife’s rhythm.
“I was going to say something else.” Sophie’s brow furrowed a bit, and Isaac suppressed the urge to press a finger to her forehead, to smooth it out.
“I know.” He smiled. “But I was one step ahead of you. I was thinking this might be a nice place to raise a family.” Seeing that the infant was falling asleep, he was whispering now.
A single tear spilled out from Sophie’s eye and landed on the child’s cheek. For a moment, the tear sparkled like a prism, orange sunlight creating the illusion of an iridescent patch of skin.
Isaac’s shoes brimmed with sand, but he continued to step and sway from side to side. He reached out his arms to Sophie.
“Do you think I might have a turn holding her now?”
Item No. 117-M | Packs only what you need. Whether you agree or not
The Sensible Satchel
I first discovered the Sensible Satchel (or al-kais al-ma’qul, as the locals call it) in the floating markets of Marrakech. It is unassuming in appearance, with its weathered leather the color of strong tea and well-patinated brass fixtures. This remarkable bag defies physics by shrinking your possessions with elegant precision while never growing heavier than a modest loaf of bread. I’ve transported three weeks of expedition gear through dampest jungles and driest deserts with ease.
The Satchel’s most unique magic, however, lies in its uncanny wisdom about necessity. It possesses an almost sentient discernment that simply refuses to tolerate excess. That fourth bottle of cologne? The Satchel knows better. I once attempted to pack six linen shirts for a weekend in Monaco, only to have three of them ejected onto my hotel floor with remarkable force and what I swear was a disapproving rustle. One learns quickly never to argue with the Satchel about what constitutes “necessity.”
Chapter1
In the Bag
Present Day, Romania
Zanfira bit her lip–just hard enough to draw a drop of blood, which she used her pinky finger to dab across her full lower lip. It wasn’t for cosmetic effect. She had a particular shade of balm that she would apply next. She’d mixed the potent potion herself. But the addition of her own blood upon application was crucial to the potion’s efficacy. Colored with carmine, the balm would also soothe the wound she’d just created and seal the spell.
She glanced at herself in the mottled mercury glass mirror over the faded wooden dresser and watched as the reflection turned side to side, vamping in the mirror and blowing a kiss. Like everything at the shabby boarding house she was staying in, the mirror was old and unreliable. She couldn’t count on its reflection to be true. It was either haunted or enchanted by a past guest. She knew this to be true, because her Hex Detector, a small portable lamp that doubled as a nightlight, had revealed the spirit in the mirror on the first day she’d taken the room. It was a harmless thing, not even worth ringing her Banishment Bell over. She’d merely added her Wanderer’s Warding Stickers to the windows. Now she peeled them off carefully and placed them in her back pocket. She wouldn’t need them here anymore, as she wouldn’t be returning to this room.
